Happy Holiday
by Lunar
Summary: Briareos may not have a firm idea of what his perfect holiday entails, but he's pretty sure getting roped into a PR extravaganza isn't it.  Good thing he can rely on Deunan to come to the rescue.
1. Chapter 1

Happy Holiday

"Briareos. My office, if you please?"

Looking up from his reports, he saw Col. Knute's resigned expression and braced himself for the unknown. If the old officer had been angry, or even annoyed, then that would be something, but his bland amusement didn't bode particularly well.

Not work related. He deduced as he carefully pushed his chair back and stood up. Several months back into the daily grind and he was still adapting. Several years more, and he had a hunch he'd _still_ be adapting. He couldn't help it. Sometimes being back in the old rotunda, crammed in with all the other officers, made him feel like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. He was the proverbial nail that stuck out. The fact that Deunan was usually glued to his side honestly didn't help with the impression much, given how much shorter she was.

Between the pair of them they were not _quite_ the most extreme ends of the spectrum on the team. That honor went to him and Office Monsanto, given the old woman was an awe inspiring 4'11" when standing fully upright. But Deunan was the shortest member of SWAT, and getting stuck next to her in a team portrait was far more likely. Last time, one of the captains had joked that he might as well sit on his heels while she sat across his shoulders in order to try and make everyone fit realistically into the standard rectangular format for a group photo. The resulting mayhem, as _everyone_ tried to take a turn clambering over him like a living jungle gym had been pretty funny in hindsight. But not terribly effective.

Briareos wondered sometimes if maybe Deunan had done her work, making him more approachable, too well. He was glad the cringing had (mostly) stopped. But if the alternative was to become some sort of damned mascot, he wasn't sure he was all that much better off in terms of always drawing a crowd. Better to be loved than feared? He mused as he carefully navigated the narrow space between desks, apologizing for the inevitable bumps and tipped papers.

The room really wasn't geared for someone his size. That they'd found a desk he could even get his knees under, was a blessing, but that didn't mean he could actually get to it some days without some careful choreography. Luckily people seemed to find his constant blundering rather amusing, again owing to the mascot thing. He tried not to sigh in dismay at the way the cute trio of traffic officers all giggled and waved at him as he carefully avoided a mail cart only to step backwards into a railing. He was damned performance art. The urge to go sulk at Deunan down on the track was pretty high. She'd laugh, sure, but at least she seemed to understand.

Weirdly, the other person who seemed to 'get' the awkwardness of his new found role, was her father. The old man looked up as he let himself in to the office, tilting his head sideways to note the still smiling group of girls before sharing a knowing look with him. "Close the door."

"Yessir."

"Work is ongoing to reshuffle space on the floor below so that we can make proper aisles up here for the first time in years. I appreciate your patience."

"It's only when I'm not on the field." He agreed, resigned to feeling cramped in most of the interior spaces of the police headquarters. It wasn't the building's fault that it wasn't designed for guys like him. Hell, parts of the facility were old enough, that he doubted there even _were_ civilian cyborgs on active duty, when it was constructed. "Don't rush on my account."

"I beg to differ. We must rush on your account." Carl Knute smiled sardonically. "Those uppity little do-gooders over at the statehouse will undoubtedly threaten to reduce our funding if we don't prove that we are able to provide a safe and comfortable working environment for an officer with special needs."

"Bloody hell. They make it sound like I'm a cripple or something." He shook his head in disgust. "Everyone's got an agenda for me these days, I swear."

"You must admit, Briareos, you are uniquely qualified to be a 'Poster Child' for any number of causes, regardless of your personal feelings towards involvement in any of said causes... Which I fear, brings me to the topic of the moment."

"Who wants a photo of me now?" He hunched lower in his chair, resigned to yet another fight to retain some semblance of privacy. "And what do I have to do to get out of it?"

His commander looked upwards in a moment of thoughtful meditation braiding his fingers together against his chest. The seemingly serene pose, combined with his chronically wild mop of hair, made the old man look like some sort of bizarre tribal mystic consulting his gods. Carl Knute's gods, Briareos supposed, were the opposing forces of Justice and Practicality. There wasn't much room for mercy under either of their auspices.

"I hope you will appreciate, lieutenant, that the _first_ request I received was that we dress you in some ridiculous futuristic costume armor, and put on a demonstration on the proving grounds with the aid of some of the movie-industry's finest pyrotechnics..."

"Oh god, no. Please no." He buried his face in his hands. "I just... want to do my job. Why can't they let me do my job? If I wanted Hollywood, I'd have gone to Hollywood!"

"Indeed." Colonel Knute sighed in annoyance. "It's hard enough to stay on top of crime in this city without the constant distractions. Frankly at this point I'm forced to consider authorizing the hire of another full time PR person to the department just to deal with requests for _you_. Which while good for overall publicity, is completely untenable."

"Thank you sir."

"Don't thank me, it's an entirely selfish response. You cost too damned much to be put on a shelf. The department paid a disgusting amount of money to the army after your return as a way of soothing ruffled feathers over the whole mistaken identity debacle. And no, you don't need to remind me that you also provided considerable private funds as well. I am aware. But still. You, young man, are bought and paid for by me, twice over, at this point. I intend to get my money's worth out of you. Which cannot be done, if you're not _working_."

"Thank you? I think?" Briareos put his hands down, half tempted to laugh at the rant, despite the fact that the central argument there in was his fundamental indentured slavery to SWAT. As slavery went, it wasn't so bad.

"So." Carl continued, looking his usual stern self. "A compromise has been reached. Namely, you, attending this year's Christmas ball downtown at the Governor's mansion as part of the police delegation. We do an official announcement of your merits and achievements, a short, and may I say _heavily_ edited video of your on-field tactics... _with_ your teammates so that they can see you all in action and pat themselves on the back. The governor and his aides all get a few pictures and handshakes, you get a nice dinner. And we all can get back to work the following morning with the minimum of fuss. I've already contacted the department's tailor on your behalf. Your new dress uniform will be ready a week before hand."

"Eugh." Briareos sat back, already not-looking-forward to the way the stiff feeling coat would pin his arms. "Better than a space-man-costume, I guess."

"Or being asked to show up stripped to the waist." Carl agreed with a wolfish grin, pulling a new cigar from his drawer and retrieving the lighter from his pocket.

"You have got to be kidding."

The older man simply shook his head in disgust. "Everyone wants a spectacle. And apparently dolling you up like some sort of futuristic-berserker is 'in fashion' this year. God help us all."

"Do I dare ask who else is going? Or am I to be thrown under the bus alone on this one?" Briareos swept the wrinkles from his pants, trying to not think of how embarrassing it would have been to be obliged to show up for a formal dinner half naked. Give the choice, he'd wear a damned tuxedo instead, and he _hated_ bow-ties.

"I will be there, naturally. And Captain Foed, who will probably be doing the actual presentation, since he has the flair for such things. Hollister and his wife will be there, so you won't be entirely at sea, in terms of people you know. He's down from the north representing the ICIS, and will enjoy catching up with you, I'm sure. Chief Geonetto and his crew will be representing Fire and Rescue as they do every year. If he tries to sweet talk you into volunteering your services? Don't say yes. They can get their _own_ cyborg. You're ours."

The old man grinned wickedly around his cigar at Briareos' noise of wordless disgust. "Those, I believe, will be the 'friendly' faces at least. As far as who else to watch for? Traci Lords will be there as liaison for central hospital blood and tissue bank. I don't doubt she'll have that horrible Fram woman in tow from the City Cybernetics Clinic and will want to corner you about 'giving back to your new community' in some way. Tell them they'll have to clear it with _us_ first and that you can't make any promises."

"Maybe I can have a training accident the day of..."

"Don't even think about it." His commander vetoed grimly. "They'll just reschedule for some other time, even more annoying."

"Is there anything else I should be aware of?" Briareos resigned himself to a stress-filled evening. "Other than to mind my manners and wipe my nose?"

"The less you say, the better, honestly." Carl agreed calmly. "This may be one of those times, Briareos, where the phrase 'just be yourself' doesn't apply. All I ask is your presence, and you're toleration of events, for a period of time not to exceed five hours. I don't care if you're sleeping on your feet, or filling out the daily crossword inside that armor-plated cranium of yours, so long as you can manage the occasional 'yes', 'no', and 'thank you' on the appropriate cues."

"Yes sir." He stood, taking that as his hint to get back to work.

Wandering down to the training grounds was looking better and better. Maybe he'd pretend to go do some laps and just go collapse out in the tall grass at the back of the track where people never bothered to mow. He needed a few minutes to himself to mentally adjust to the idea of being 'showcased' at the biggest social 'do' of the holiday season.

_Just prop me up next to the overly done-up Christmas trees wearing a nutcracker coat, why don't you._ He thought uncharitably to himself as the old man flicked a hand at the door, encouraging him to get lost. _Or better yet, strip me naked and polish me up, and sit me down in the motor pool behind red velvet ropes, right next to the newest police cruisers the city had just acquired, so that they can _really_ get an eyeful. Look everyone, he's still got that 'new car smell'!_

"It is traditional, Briareos. That unmarried officers attending formal occasions such as this bring a guest of the opposite gender..." The Colonel's voice caught his attention as he was about to slop out the door.

"Excuse me?" He turned, wishing he could blink in surprise at the reminder.

"And since you are a guest. And not a piece of luggage... the department has procured a second ticket for you. If you happen to find someone willing to stand up with you for an evening and not embarrass the department? By all means bring them along. If you feel awkward asking, I'm sure we can muster a volunteer from somewhere."

Briareos digested the vague suggestion slowly, looking for any hidden agendas. There really was only one female he'd be _expected_ to ask to such an evening or risk a solid kick to the shins if she was snubbed. But why not just say 'there's a ticket for Deunan too'? Or was she deemed too risky, for such a formal occasion?

Admittedly the Colonel's daughter wasn't the first girl to come to mind, when he tried to picture a low-profile date to a fancy downtown party. Deunan was _Deunan_, low-key wasn't what she was all about. So, he wondered, was he supposed to let his commander choose a non-threatening 'date' for him? Thus saving him from having to explain to the girl that he wanted to take someone less... exciting?

Honestly, did he _want_ to drag Deunan to a party if she was obliged to be nervous the whole time about being herself?

Or was this just Carl's way of continuing his general trend of denial, in terms of actually admitting that Deunan was now living with him? They'd never formally 'announced' it to the old man, but it was hardly a secret either. It was impossible to read the old man's motivations.

"I'll... have to get back to you on that." He temporized, escaping before he was given any further shocks for the afternoon.

88888888888888888

He could hear her looking for him long before she actually came within view.

It was another gorgeous day in LA, complete with blue sky and puffy white clouds. In yet another weird quirk of being a cyborg, he could feel the sun warming his skin, and even measure the precise temperature differential, but neither _feel_ warmer or cooler based on it or the persistent breeze. The blades of grass tickled his elbows where he'd rolled up his sleeves. The sound of Deunan, methodically inspecting a different section of unmown grass for his oversized carcass was just as easy to pick out as the hum of random insects hard at work beneath the flattened grass behind his head, and the distant call and response of the drill instructors and new recruits. Deunan paused to stretch, her back popping with the effort, and he imagined how she probably looked, with her t-shirt hiked up around her stomach as she worked the kinks out of her spine.

After a moment she sighed in frustration. "Marco..."

"Polo." He humored her with an answer. Not wanting to hide from _her_ specifically, just the world at large. Her humph of satisfied amusement made him want to smile as he let her find her own way after the clue provided.

"Thought you'd be back here." Her shadow crossed him as she bent over to give him a poke. "No fair hiding behind the hill like that."

"Didn't want to be bothered for a while."

"Oh." She raised an eyebrow artfully, "Does that mean I should go away now?"

He snorted at her tease, reaching up to guide her to sit next to him and get comfortable. Deunan didn't need much encouragement to slouch against his chest and relax. Folding her arms on top of his ribs, or what had once been his ribs, she gave him a cheerful wink. "So... what're you brooding about?"

"Christmas." He'd very nearly decided what he was going to do about the whole thing, given a half hour to weigh pros and cons. Going wasn't open to negotiation, but _how_ he was going to go, and how far he was willing to play along with the script, and who he was going to go with... those were still factors he could chose to control if he wanted. He watched Deunan puzzle over his one word answer, clearly confused by the unexpected theme of his thoughts.

"As in... what to get someone for Christmas?" She hedged, curiously. "Or as in 'What to do about Christmas' in terms of work schedule? Or are we going for the more existential angle here... give me some context, big guy."

"Existential?" He couldn't help but laugh. "Like what?"

"I don't know." She made a face. "Isn't that was the day is all about? You know, Christianity? Immaculate conception? Three kings visiting some barn in the middle east? 'Unto us a Child is given? You feeling born again with the whole cyborg thing?"

"Uh. No." He blinked at the way she could find a tangent to _anything_. "Nothing quite that deep, thanks. Just trying to figure out what I want to do with an invitation I got for a Christmas party. That's all."

"... An invitation that's left you brooding out in a field for the afternoon." She pointed out drily. "I take it you don't want to go."

"Not especially. No." He brushed her hair back from her face, noting a large band-aid on her scalp as he did. "What the... Deunan...? What did you do to yourself now?"

She smacked his fingers away when he might have poked at the wound. "Leave it. Just a scratch! I promise. Don't freak out. My own helmet got me, if you must know. I was ducking an elbow to the face. Just wasn't fast enough."

"Christ." He propped himself on his elbows to get a better look at her. Stripped of her combat coveralls and armor, she was in her usual post-training t-shirt and shorts, with a new collection of bruises and scrapes readily apparent. "Must you always play so rough with the other kids?"

He tried to make his scolding into a joke, but she must have picked up on his anxiety. Deunan rolled her eyes and primly tucked her arms between them such that he couldn't exactly see how banged up they were. "I'm fine. You should see the other guy!" Her eyes moved over his face, as if reading his mood from the static assortment of lenses and plates. Tilting her head sideways, she offered him a tired, but far more genuine smile. "Really. It's cool. I'm learning a lot. Better that I get banged up in practice, then get mauled because I'm under-prepared for the real thing, right? I want to do this."

"Masochist." He sighed, shifting so he could smooth her hair down and continue the caress down her shoulder and arm. "Promise me he's not pushing you too hard?"

"I know how to say 'uncle' if it gets to be too much." She agreed, relaxing against him again with a contented sigh.

"Knowing, and doing, are two separate things." He disagreed softly. "It's the second one that I'm worried about. Seriously, girlie-girl. You're already plenty good. Some of the stuff he's showing you... it's well beyond anything you'll ever see in SWAT. Hell... some of the stuff he's showing you, I only know because I learned as a young punk because someone was trying to kill _me_ with it. I... I don't really like the idea of you getting as hands-on as he's taking you."

"Would you rather I stand back and leave all the 'dirty work' to you?" She raised an eyebrow again, this time not in jest. "Be the good little woman who will do thus and thus, but never that? Because I'm sure if I explain that to the guy coming after me, he's sure to understand why I won't use every weapon at my disposal to keep myself alive... he's bound to do the chivalrous thing and only attack me in ways I can counter according to the rulebooks."

Briareos sagged backwards and stared at the sky instead, knowing he was caught. It was all well and good to say Deunan shouldn't be learning - there really was no nice way to put it – how to be a dirty cop. But really, if she wanted to get to the top of her given field, she'd have to compete against guys who _did_ know these things, who had, to some extent or another, _lived_ them. Stealth killing, underhanded fighting, interrogation, unorthodox weaponry, illegal weaponry, torture? She was right. He'd seen it. And while he'd never done _some_ of it himself - he'd had limits, even as a freelancer - he knew how to do it.

The first time he'd watch her dislocate a man's fingers, under her father's calm-faced observation, while threatening the suspect with far worse, he'd had to step out of the room or become physically ill.

The worst part, he supposed, was that she could just switch it _off_ as easy as you please. One minute, she'd be... terrifying. And the next, she'd be the Deunan he knew. How long, he wondered, would she be able to keep those two sides to herself separate? The perfect-soldier her father was grooming her to be, and the Deunan he... cared for. In the uneasy confines of his subconscious was the worry that maybe he'd just been gone too damned long. That in the year that he'd been dead, she'd changed completely, and the woman curled against his side was merely an artifact, a facade. Like he was? Like he had once been, his heart insisted fiercely. It'd been a long time, since he'd felt like he was 'faking' at being Briareos. Irony of ironies, it was Deunan who'd made the transition possible. Instinctively he draped an arm over her shoulders and gave her a squeeze, feeling marginally better when she reached around his chest to squeeze him back.

"You're going to give yourself a migraine, worrying all the time like this." She sighed candidly. "Whatever it is, leave it? For once? Tell me about Christmas instead."

If he could have winced, he would have. He resigned himself with bouncing his head against the ground with a whine of annoyance, which elicited a snort of laughter from his audience. Deunan was Deunan. He told himself to take her advice and stop worrying for the moment. He was here _now_, he could keep an eye on her. Make sure that she wouldn't get sucked into doing anything too outrageous, make sure that she was still given space to be... something other than an extension of her father's master-plan.

That, more than anything, settled his own plans for once and for all. To hell with what Carl wanted. If he was going to be sucked into a damned PR party, he wasn't going with some random office-appointed matron. If the old man didn't like it, he shouldn't have offered. And if Deunan wanted to end the night by dropping LSD into the punchbowl, he wasn't going to stop her.

"Do me a favor hellcat? Schedule yourself out on Christmas eve, you're officially reserved for special duty downtown that night."

"What? Ewwe!" She sat up to give him an evil look. "No way! I do not want to be pulling honor-guard duty at some stupidly boring state dinner on Christmas. Come on. If I can't get the night off-off, which I can't, because apparently _you_ can't, and I'm not spending Christmas home alone... I might as well be busting heads."

"Nuh uh." Briareos vetoed her whining. "If I have to be downtown, I'm dragging you with me. Otherwise I'll be tempted to wedge myself behind that oversized spruce they'll have in the grand ballroom and refuse to come out until New Years."

Deunan stared at him incredulously. "They roped _you_ into honor guard crap? Oh shit. I'm sorry. That is so lame! Don't we have like 20 guys benched for medical stuff right now? Can't one of them be propped up in dress blues and made to do the chore? What a complete..."

"Cock-up." He sighed, completing her thought. "It's not so bad for you, though. You don't have to wear your blues. Actually you're kind of expected to wear a dress. Probably a ballgown... do you even own a ballgown?"

"A what?" His girl blinked and tried to keep up. "I have... cocktail dresses... well... I have _one_ cocktail dress... and that ridiculous dress I bought for that stakeout that one time... but I don't think that's what you mean..."

Briareos squeezed her again, unable to resist imagining the absolute horror in the eyes of her parent if she wore _that_ particularly revealing dress to something like the governor's ball. They'd get thrown out before even getting through the door. Which, he mused, would be a _memorable_ way to duck an unwanted evening, but not necessarily good PR for the department. "No, tradition states you need something floor length I believe. And possibly, something that doesn't show skin down to your navel. I'm not sure of current fashion... But as your father will be attending the party as well, discretion might be advisable."

"Ok." She closed her eyes and opened them to fix him with a stern stare. "Start from the top, handsome. What exactly have you gone and volunteered me for?"

"I'm being compelled, for reasons too stupid to bother you with, to attend the Governor's Ball this Christmas." He admitted in defeat. "I haven't volunteered you for anything yet, officially, but I'd really appreciate it, if you'd come with me... as my date. Although I can promise you right now, it's going to be a very boring night."

"No shit!" Deunan was abruptly all smiles. "So we're going as like... guests? Food? Free booze?"

"Those are the only high-points, yes." He shrugged. "I have to let some idiots shake my hand and make vague noises in support of various interdepartmental initiatives without actually promising anything like actual time, or money... Pose for a few pictures, let some fool at the PR department tell happy lies about how great I am as a new asset for the city police. You just have to stand there and look pretty. Probably flirt with some councilmen, generally stay out of trouble and keep me from strangling anyone."

"Oooooh sounds fun!" She hoisted herself up his chest in order to kiss his chin. "I've never been to a swanky party before! I wonder if they'll have ballroom dancing..."

"Probably. I'm sure if you bat your eyes at someone there, they can show you the steps. I'll heckle from the sidelines."

"Aww, come on. I bet you could dance just fine. It'd be like old times, remember when you taught me to tango that one time?" She chided, tapping his nose with a finger as she all but bounced with excitement. "Although where we're going to find you a tux in your size, I really don't know..."

"I'm in uniform." He reminded her grimly, ignoring her tease about dancing, and his lack of interest in crippling her for life by stepping on her toes. "So it's just a matter of finding you a dress that won't bankrupt us. Do they rent dresses?"

"I'm sure they do." She shrugged. "Or I can buy on consignment. I'll send some feelers out. Don't you even think of helping. I'm a big girl now, I can buy my own clothes." Pausing, she gave him a knowing look. "That is, of course, assuming you trust me to pick out something without your prior approval, of course?"

He huffed, knowing that if he said 'no, that he trusted her' he'd be left tearing his non-existent hair out for the next three weeks over whether she'd be wearing something that would get them both in hot water, or if he said 'yes, that he wanted to chaperone' that she'd be in high snit with him for the whole time for being treated like a little girl. Something in his silent desperation must have provoked her pity, because Deunan leaned down again to kiss him in placation. "Ballgown. Respectable. Within budget. Three weeks. I got it. No nagging. Deal?"

"Thank you." Briareos said simply. Not wanting to provoke her if she was willing to humor him without a fight. She nuzzled his jaw playfully in revenge, which really wasn't much of a punishment, in his opinion. He pulled her into a slightly more comfortable sprawl and let his hands drift over her shoulders and back. His body might be insulated enough to ignore the breeze, but her t-shirt was still damp from the sweat of her morning and afternoon battles on the training grounds, he encouraged her to leach off of his heat if she wanted. "What's on your docket for the evening, hmm?" He listened to her heart beat slow as she went limp against his skin.

"_We_ have team drills starting at 7 going until like midnight. In case you were inclined to forget, tin-man." She teased lazily. "Where in I am perfectly ready to admit, I'm going to play it pretty conservative, for once, because my back has already taken a beating today and I don't need another. Before that, I'd like to grab something quick for dinner. Do you have the caf' menu stored in that head of yours?"

"Breaded Sole." He recited from memory. "Or Pasta Primavera."

"Beige with a side of limp veggies, or... beige tossed together with limp veggies. Can you hear the joy in my voice?" She drawled. "I vote Chinese food. I'll drive?"

"Count me in." Briareos chuckled. "Going to nap until then?"

"If you don't mind?" She stretched and tucked herself a little tighter around him, effectively stiffing any chance of protest, if he'd been inclined to make one. "Just for half an hour. Wake me if I'm konked out? I want to grab a shower before we eat."

"Yeah sure." He settled his arms carefully so as to not put too much weight on her and resumed his earlier cloud watching.


	2. Chapter 2

No amount of artfully arranged Christmas lights, tinsel, or trays of microscopic pastry were enough to make him feel marginally better about the way his evening thus-far was going. Briareos glanced towards the door for what felt like the eight hundredth time in the past half hour, but neither of the new arrivals were people he gave a crap about.

The only thing worse, he supposed, than worrying about what sort of absurd dress Deunan was going to wear to the Governor's Holiday Gala... was having her not show up at all. The last he'd heard from her was the text message she'd sent all of five minutes before she was due to leave with him from the apartment saying that she'd have to make her own way because she was getting held up by some last minute paperwork at the end of her shift. That was over an hour ago and not only had he been compelled to deal with the initial round of introductions alone, but he was worryingly close to being obliged to sit down to dinner solo too. Briareos spared a thought to dial her number again, not at all surprised when it went straight to voice-mail.

This had to be revenge for the handful of times that duty had compelled him to stand her up for a date as a teenager, he sighed in resignation. He checked the door again, and resisted the urge to curse in frustration at yet another not-Deunan's arrival. At this rate he'd be compelled to lock himself in the bathroom to get a break from the reporters for a few minutes.

"You look about as happy as a cat that's stepped in wet paint." Someone drawled at his elbow. "Calm down, son. You're going to give yourself whip-lash if you keep gate-watching like that." The voice was familiar, as was the face. Briareos sighed in relief to meet someone who _wouldn't_ want a photo op from him for the evening. Reaching out, he gratefully shook the older officer's hand. "Agent Hollister. Mrs. Hollister. Always a pleasure."

"Seems like we're dining together." The senior negotiator tipped his wineglass a hair to note the cards placed around the nearest table. Nodding towards the 'executive' table placed up on the stage for the other notable guests, he raised an ironic eyebrow. "They didn't rope you into a seat at the grown-up's table?"

"I told the Colonel that if he did, I was bound to get nervous and spill something on myself." Briareos half-joked. "I didn't want to be here in the first place, being in the spotlight for more than the requisite 15 minutes is not _my_ idea of a good time."

"I can't blame you in the least. Public speaking always makes me sick to my stomach." The wispy looking woman on Hollister's arm smiled up at him and then shrugged helplessly. "I must say, Briareos. I would have never recognized you if my husband hadn't assured me of who you were."

"Perils of reconstructive surgery, ma'am. I hope you never have to experience it." He gave his now-standard reply.

"Where's the little woman?" Hollister glanced around, "I was looking forward to heckling her. Haven't had a chance to really talk to her since that stunt at the bank... She's not coming tonight?"

"She's AWOL." Briareos shrugged at the agent's polite surprise. "Got a last minute call to assist with something case-related before she was due to come down, and I haven't heard a peep since. With my luck she'll be tied up until morning."

"Rotten way to spend Christmas." Hollister agreed. "If you want to borrow Marlene for company when you're up on stage, just say the word."

"Don't you dare promise such a thing!" His wife pinched his arm, comically aghast. "I wouldn't know the first thing about what to do up there!"

"That's ok. Neither do I." Briareos shrugged and stared wistfully at the tray of wine flutes passing by. Deunan, of course, had promised to pack straws in her handbag, so he hadn't thought to slip one in his pocket. "All I'm supposed to do is stand there and look impressive while the pro's do the talking."

"Speaking of pro's. Here they come now." Hollister muttered into his drink. "The wife and I will just wait over on the other side of the table, shall we? Quack like a duck if you need to be rescued." Briareos sighed in defeat as the pair of departmental PR officers descended on him with no less than three reporters in tow.

With the expected pauses in conversation for welcoming speeches and general announcements, Briareos fended off the more-impertinent questions as best he could, letting the staffers run interference for him whenever possible. Despite is earnest effort to keep his answers short and vague, he was chagrined to find that the informal inquisition that ringed him had managed to fill half a notebook in next to no time and gather a small audience as well. Biting back a less-than-politic reply, when one of the gossip-jockeys started asking about maintenance fees, he cast another desperate look towards the door.

No luck. Not only was there no Deunan, but even the flow of arrivals had all but trickled to a stop. Some kind soul, probably Hollister had fetched him a tall whiskey with ice and set it next to his plate.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. He snagged the nearest waiter as the boy was setting out baskets of bread. "I need a drinking-straw. Don't care what kind. There has to be one in the kitchen somewhere, go ask."

"Yes sir."

The odd-ball request raised a few eyebrows from the crowd. But as he wasn't going to explain himself without being asked. With the PR guys excitedly talking over each other as they warmed to the topic of ROI on a one-of-a-kind civic investment, nobody could quite bring themselves to make issue of it. Then some wise-ass derailed the conversation by asking about his post-cybernetic-love-life and he was obliged to stutter something about 'seeing someone' without encouraging them to poke him for sordid details.

He cursed Deunan's absence all over again. If she'd just _been there_ he could have stood back and let her have a field day with the too-personal-questions. But she wasn't. He was sitting down to dinner with a reporter for Cybernetics Monthly still chatting his ear off, happily preempting the seat that should have been hers. Next time, he promised himself. He'd flat out refuse to come in the door until she was ready to walk in with him. Either that, or he'd line up a backup date for when his first one got unavoidably derailed.

"Wow. Now there's a case of better late than never." One of the lingering reporters standing around him nudged his friend with the camera, who did a double take and immediately lifted the lens to his eye to take a picture. "Who do you suppose _she's_ here with?"

"Me. With any luck." The cameraman joked. Briareos leaned around the pair, and nearly gaped in surprise. The girl had a passing resemblance to Deunan. Same height, same hair color, but there he was obliged to stop and second guess. _His_ Deunan didn't have hair that was cooperative to being swept back or curled, or styled in general. And there seemed to be... more of it... then there'd been that morning. Likewise _this_ girl had - by some occult means - managed to _pour_ herself into a shimmering evening gown that was just a little too green to be counted as a holiday color, but which did wonders at making the rest of her skin look a fantastic shade of gold. She must have known it too, because she was showing a lot of it.

The dress left Deunan's arms, shoulders, and all of her back visible. But otherwise, he was forced to concede, she shown remarkable restraint. It was well within acceptable boundaries for a ballgown. It was just the girl wearing it that made it seem, somehow special. The fact that she managed the feat of projecting both bashful and glamorous at the same time as she pardoned her way through the last of the crowd only made it that much more surreal. She was beautiful. She was graceful. She was gracious. The first, he supposed came naturally, but where the hell had she learned the other two? Certainly not on the SWAT training grounds.

Feeling stupidly out classed by a girl he had been expecting to simply be late, not late and jaw-droppingly lovely, he stood up to greet her properly. Somehow, the look that Deunan gave him - half relief, half tightly-wound nerves - gave him a little more confidence. She wasn't _quite_ as put together as she seemed. Acutely aware of the fact that the tables nearby were openly staring, he offered her a hand as she got close enough, and guided her through the maze of chairs.

"I'm _so sorry_ that I'm late." Deunan leaned against him briefly in greeting, giving the strangers at the table a fake smile, and then turning to look up at him with quiet exasperation. "It was just one thing after another... I don't even want to know how many speed camera snaps I will probably get in the mail next week."

"I don't know." He joked softly, "I'd say you got here just in time. Any later and you'd have missed the salad." It was weird, he supposed, to see Deunan wearing full makeup these days. How often in the past year had she gotten really dolled up for anything? His last real memory of her this done up was when she wasn't yet seventeen. Even when doing the stakeout, she hadn't looked this nice. At the time, he supposed she'd been aiming for 'easy' more than 'elegant' in her preparations. He studied her face for a moment before deciding that the overall effect was startlingly good. Not that he'd expect the level of effort from her on a day-to-day basis, but for a special occasion? He'd forgotten how well the touches of cosmetic suited her.

"Something on my face?" She fidgeted under his stare. "God don't tell me I smudged something on my run up the stairs... I'll feel like an idiot."

"You didn't. You're fine." He looked away, feeling guilty for making her nervous, just in time to get half-blinded by the flash of another camera. Briareos counted to five to keep the reflex reaction of driving the camera back into the poor man's face to himself. Deunan flinched and laughed next to him, shielding her eyes with her clutch bag, which did far more to dispel his sudden fury.

"Owww. Some warning next time? Guys?" She blinked owlishly as she cleared her eyes.

"Sorry miss," Came the chorus of sudden apologies.

"Better yet, wait until after dinner and I'll let you snap one of me kissing the big guy under the mistletoe. Ok?"

"Deunan!" He scolded at her blatant flirting. It was one thing to humor the lunatics, it was another to outright encourage them. She merely winked at him as she turned around to take in the lay of the land. The cub from Cybernetics Monthly was still sitting, bread roll in hand, staring up at her as if she was some sort of second-coming.

"Excuse me." She aimed her broad girl-next-door-smile at the poor man, which only caused his blush to stretch all the way to his ears.

"Y-yes, ma'am!"

"I think you're in my seat?"

Briareos covered his face with his hand at avoid cracking up at the reporter's suddenly mortified expression. Hollister, on the other side of the table, saw no reason for such tact, openly biting his knuckle to swallow his laugh as he slapped the table. Stuttering apologies, the reporter managed to not only get out of her way, but also hold the chair for her; proving that he did have some manners regardless of his professional nosiness. Deunan sat as gracefully as if being stewarded to dinner was a daily occurrence for her. Deftly setting her handbag down and shifting utensils, she turned and wordlessly offered him her bread-plate, his partially mangled snack still evident. That merited another embarrassed apology which she waved off with a sparkling smile. "

See you after dessert, fellas." She made vague shooing motions at the rest of the crowd. "Man's gotta eat." Amazingly, the reporters did as they were told, bashfully fading back to their tables and friends without further protest.

"You know." Briareos remarked conversationally as he settled back into his chair and watched her sip from her water glass. "If _I_ tried to shoo them the way you just did, I'd get looked at like I have two heads..."

"Yeah. Well. I'm a girl." She tucked her napkin into her lap and fished her compact out of her bag to check her reflection in the tiny mirror. "There have to be _some_ perks to balance out the never ending battle against misogyny."

He got distracted from thinking of a snappy reply by trying to figure out what she'd done to her hair. Some sparkly looking pins were clustered over each ear, and at regular intervals further along the curve of her head. As improbable as it was, with each pin it seemed like she had more and more hair to work with until finally there was a rather pretty sort of feathered mop of golden locks piled at the very back, almost like the crest on a bird. It took looking at it in a different spectrum to really understand what he was seeing. "Half your hair is fake!" He only realized he'd blurted it aloud when she paused mid sip to stare at him in disbelief.

"Yes. And?"

People did that. He reminded himself. He'd probably dated women before who'd worn extensions on occasion and not given it a second thought. Briareos kicked himself for sounding stupider than usual. It was just unexpected. He didn't know _Deunan_ knew how to do that. It didn't seem right, for some reason. His girl never had felt the need for such artificial enhancement before. Part of him stubbornly insisted she didn't need it _now_, no matter how pretty it was. "I... Just." He scrounged for something slightly more eloquent than 'it's nice' to say and came up empty handed. "Makes a change. Is all." He caught the chillier vibe almost immediately and kicked himself again. "Must have taken a while to do?"

"Hair dresser." She stated what ought to have been obvious. Turning to study him again, she flashed a hesitant smile. "Uniform seems to be a good fit?"

"I feel like an idiot."

"You don't look like an idiot." Deunan chided, looking first to him, and then his untouched drink with a small frown. "No straw?"

"I don't suppose you could do the honors?"

Fishing in her handbag she produced the essential item and handed it to him only to look around in bafflement. "You telling me you've been here over an hour... and nobody bothered to find you a straw?"

"I sent a guy to go look for one." Briareos shrugged. "He never came back."

"Good lord." She blinked again. "What have you been drinking?

"There's a water-fountain out in the hall by the men's room." He admitted sheepishly. "That's about it so far." Sucking down several long pulls of his drink he felt immediately more cordial about the whole evening. Deunan was giving him the look she saved for days when he was being especially masochistic. "I did ask." He pointed out in his defense.

"I'd have thrown a fit after the first five minutes if I were you." She countered, leaning forward as she scolded and giving him an inadvertent view down the long line of her back. Her dress had a strand of brilliant rhinestones holding it nominally together below her shoulder blades but otherwise was functionally gone from neck to waist. Unable to help himself, he wondered what she was doing for a bra, but it wasn't something a guy could just ask in public. Probably he'd find out later, he mused. Unless she banished him to the couch for being especially inept tonight.

Put some effort into it, he chided himself, but it was easier said that done.

It was the dress, he mused. Under normal circumstances he was pretty confident he and Deunan were on the same level, in terms of social graces. But in this light? In that dress? She was down right intimidating. Nothing he could think to say seemed quite right.

It was only after her third sideways glance at him, while distractedly picking at her salad, that he realized that he was overcompensating for not being an idiot, by not saying anything at all. He gave up sounding intelligent in favor of not getting kicked. "You look really nice."

"You think?" Deunan smiled in a way that made him realize that she'd probably been waiting for his approval since the moment she'd walked in the door. He sighed at how they could so easily cross signals even after all their years of knowing one another, and nodded to further emphasize his approval.

"You look good in green. You always have."

"Thanks." Blushing at the praise. She resumed stabbing at her salad with more gusto than before.

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Between Deunan and the Hollisters, he managed to have a reasonably enjoyable dinner, trading stories and gossip until interrupted by the unpleasant call of duty once more. Deunan squeezed his arm in sympathy as he was called up to the stage to do his one minute introduction, and then stand mute while others bragged on his behalf for far longer than he felt necessary.

Watching the film footage, a combination of training ground practice and recent operations recordings, was only _mostly_ mortifying. The colonel had been true to his word and ensured that the whole SWAT team had decent coverage in the marketing fluff piece, and that it wasn't just a twenty minute advertisement campaign for his 'super' strength. It didn't stop the final Q&A however from being anything but an all-cyborgs-all-the-time marathon of inanity. Briareos cursed silently as he was obliged to stand as a prop in the background and let the PR folks have their fun, wanting a drink, or several drinks in order to shake off the nerves that came of having an entire room full of people staring at him for the better part of an hour.

Finally allowed to retreat to his seat as the 'presentation' portion of the night wrapped up. He found a fresh drink ready and waiting. Deunan rubbed his shoulder as he woefully sucked it down. "You looked great. Didn't stutter or anything. Good job."

"Kill me." He disagreed with her assessment. "Just kill me now before the reporters come by again."

"Want to hide on the dance floor?" She nodded over to the slowly filling half of the room where the band was playing some sort of waltz. He eyed the swaying crowd of executives and city-fathers and shook his head in rejection of the idea. It would just be a disaster in the making if he tried to so much as shuffle at the sidelines. He could seen the headlines already, 'Cha-Cha-ing Cyborg Clubs Governor at Christmas Gala.'

"You go ahead." He advised her, not above giving her a gentle shove towards the dancers. A new flock of reporters had already homed in on his location, Briareos sighed in dismay. At least Deunan could still escape and have some fun.

She ignored his hint and simply swapped her water glass with his empty, switching the straw into the new glass and setting it in front of him. "Hydrate. Tin-man, or they'll talk you dry."

Deunan proceeded to turn her brilliant smile on his approaching horde, and like a true heroine, put herself between him and the crowd to distract them while he did as he was told. Listening to her laugh and tease the reporters and PR guys alike, Briareos marveled all over again at what Deunan had been doing while he'd been 'dead' to transform her from the rough-and-ready girl he remembered to the complex woman she'd clearly become.

Not that she wasn't... herself. He winced at a particularly direct answer she gave to the question what it was like to be one of only ten women currently serving with SWAT for the city. But somehow she'd perfected the trick of smiling as she said things, or otherwise distracting her audience with her natural charisma. Instead of coming off as awkward, or blunt; she was somehow pulling off 'fun and down-to-earth' as she talked about her life, the LAPD, and even their relationship without ever letting the conversation slip into TMI territory. He listened to her with silent pride, and no small amount of relief as she managed to deflect a good ten minutes of attention from him. Being _her_ background prop was a far easier thing, he found, than being up on stage.

A series of bright flash-bulb flares promptly quelled his growing optimism for the night. The downside, he realized, to Deunan looking as lovely as she did, and him standing next to her, was that they were now _the_ picture everyone was trying to get for the party. The PR guys steered them both unsubtly to stand next to the mayor, and then the other commissioners until his head spun from keeping track of how many hands he'd shaken and groups he'd managed to silently endorse simply by standing next to Mr. X or Mrs. Y for the necessary photo op.

Glancing over his shoulder at one point, he realized Deunan had become detached from him only to end up pulled into a 'candid' photo with her own parent. The look on Colonel Knute's face, as he was obliged to hold a party-cracker with his daughter and pretend that it was a feat he commonly did with his surviving offspring, almost made up for his own frustrations. To her credit, his girl gave the same wide girl-next-door grin to her father that she'd given to everyone as she too feigned the holiday tradition for the sake of someone's society column.

He wasn't surprised to find, on checking again a moment later, that she was gone, slipping away through the crowd the minute people stopped looking. He caught Holister with a look, raising his extendibles in silent question. The man mouthed 'balcony' back in reply, and then, like a true friend, did his part to run interference so that he too could escape.

Slipping through the crowded party as a seven-foot cyborg took some doing. Briareos rapidly discovered that he could simply choose to not stop walking and have it work startlingly well. Dancers, waiters, reporters, random spectators, no one wanted to be in his way when he was on the move, and anyone who tried to keep up would find themselves inevitably detached as they were caught up in the eddies in the crowd. Pleading 'bathroom' he cut his way out of the main room, and dodged several more curious among the business-types as he navigated the side lounge. The balcony was nominally 'closed' for the season, the cool evening being too much for the native Californians. But the glass doors weren't locked, merely shut to prevent a draft. A few diehard smokers lingered at one end of the space, his girl was leaning against the railing at the other extreme end.

Briareos silently joined her, resting his palm on her back as he leaned next to her and looked out at the city lights. Her skin was still plenty warm to the touch, he mused, but she was probably feeling the chill without some sort of wrap. "Hey." He offered after a moment of her not looking up.

"Hey." She acknowledge him, still studying something in her hands.

"What've you got there?" He nudged her shoulder so that he could get a better look. Deunan snorted in soft laughter before standing up and holding her trinket aloft for him to get a better look at. It was a little keychain with a small plastic bear dressed as a policeman stuck to the end.

"Cute. Huh?" She shook the toy slightly. "It's from the party cracker. Apparently there's also a little EMT duck, and a little fireman dog you can get..."

"What are you going to do with it?" He laughed softly, coaxing her to lean back against him so that he could provide a measure of warmth to keep her from shivering as the breeze picked up.

"Dunno." Deunan shrugged, still studying her toy. "Dad said I should have it after the reporter got distracted and left. When I think about it... this is the first Christmas present I've had from him in eight years... Funny huh?"

Sensing that he wasn't supposed to answer, Briareos chaffed her arms gently as he watched her thinking, never quite sure what to do at times like this. It really wasn't his place to get involved between the pair of them, their dysfunctional functioning complex enough without his well intentioned bungling.

It didn't mean he was insensitive to her hurt however. They didn't talk about her relationship with the Colonel any more than they talked about him and... anything about his life before LA. So even if he wanted to ask; wanted to know what precisely was so upsetting to her about the feigned family-moment after all the years he'd seen her acting indifferent towards the man. He couldn't bring himself to upset the status-quo.

"You want it?" Deunan turned to look up at him with a wry smile, teasing him with the dangling key-chain.

"Sure." He nodded slowly, catching her wrist and guiding her into a proper hug. The smokers might gossip later, but he didn't care as he stooped to brush his nose against her forehead. "Let's go in though. It's cold out here for a girl wearing next to nothing."

"Oi." She pushed against him playfully as her mood brightened. "Is that a dig about my dress?"

"I wouldn't dream of it." He let her pull him back into the stuffy warmth of the party, but was surprised when she stopped him before going into the main room again. Fussily removing his obligatory corsage, Deunan deciphered a means to hang the little toy from it before pinning it back to his shoulder. Looking down he snorted with amusement at how it looked like some sort of medal-of-special-achievement as it dangled against his uniform next to the real pins and commendations he'd been given over the years. "And to what do I owe the honor?" He joked when she looked up at him.

"That's an Order of the Bear. First-Class. Given to those brave officers who are compelled to attend Christmas parties for the sake of PR photos." She ad-libed, standing on her tip toes in order to press a kiss to his jaw and make it official. "Well done, officer. Your city thanks you."

He squeezed her to his chest with a chuckle and steered her back into the ballroom, arm in arm. "If that's the case, we need to get you one too."

"I want the duck." Deunan quipped with a merry look. "It's cuter, and would make a great phone charm."

"I'll see what I can do." Briareos agreed, sure he could trade someone for one as the evening wound down. "Wine?"

"Yes please?" His girl nodded, accepting the flute he liberated from a passing tray.

Another flashbulb, broke their private moment just as he was going to ask if she was feeling better. Briareos resisted, yet again, the urge to take the journalist's camera and use it to test his throwing-distance. Recognizing the man as the Cybernetics Monthly kid, he sighed at the photographer's horrible timing. Deunan was laughing however, so he kept his annoyance to himself and put up with the unwanted celebrity.

"Uh Miss Knute...? The guys and I were wondering..." Flushing at being pushed to the front of his delegation, the young man swallowed to gather courage before continuing. "Were you serious before? About the mistletoe thing? Because I checked with my editor and he said... that it would be great, if you would. That is- Given that it's Christmas and all...? If you didn't mind? We'd love to have that photo." Several of his compatriots nodded even as Deunan laughed louder. Briareos covered his face with his hand.

"What do you say, big guy. You? Me? Mistletoe?" She leaned back against him as she looked up to gauge his opinion.

"No." Briareos offered his vote.

"Why not?" Deunan wheedled playfully. "You won't dance with me... At least do the mistletoe... It's tradition!"

"I don't dance with you because I don't want to maim you by accident. And what are you talking about, tradition... We've _never_ done the mistletoe thing before. It's silly." He pointed out the fallacy in her argument.

"It'll be fun!"

"I think I've already made enough of a spectacle of myself for one night, thanks." He murmured down at her, trying to play up the pity angle.

Deunan pursed her lips, giving him a calculating look. "Someone's aiming to be stripped of his Order of the Bear, I think... I may just have to go stand under the mistletoe with someone _else_ tonight... You think Hollister would oblige? Or maybe that hot guy from the Urban Planning commission?"

"Deunan..." He couldn't help but tighten his grip on her waist, not sure if she would make good on the threat, and not willing to find out.

"One kiss." She smiled sweetly up at him, knowing that she'd won. "That's it. Because it's Christmas, and because I want you to. Please, Bri?"

"When we get yelled at later-" He reminded her.

"You can say it's my fault." Deunan smirked, "I accept full responsibility."

"You'd better." Briareos grumbled, steering her over to the popular corner of the room and the line of couples waiting to stand beneath the arch of fake holly to perform the obligatory kiss of the season. Unsurprisingly, seeing the 'cyborg of the city' approaching, the line rapidly melted away to give him priority access. He steeled himself for the inevitable heckling he'd get in the morning and spun Deunan out from his side in order to position her directly under the decorative foliage, deciding if he was going to go through with it, he might as well give them the show they wanted. Deunan's smile was huge, and for once, completely sincere.

"Merry Christmas, baby." She lifted her arms in invitation for him to stoop and do the deed. Feeling her hands resting on his shoulders, he obliged her with a peck on the cheek, ignoring the flashbulbs, and the inevitable cheerful-boo's from their gathering audience.

Deunan's eyes were full of laughter as he pulled back, daring him, as only she could. He grumbled so that only she could hear before taking a steadying breath. "Merry Christmas, Deunan." Stooping again, he kissed her on the lips, holding the pose just long enough for the inevitable barrage of flashes to stop. Lifting up, he tucked her back against his side and dipped his head in acknowledgment of the applause before steering them both away to the bar. "For the record. You're a cruel, cruel woman."

"So brave." She laughed against his coat, reveling in his embarrassment. "Come on. It _was_ fun... It'll make a great photo!"

"I'm sure to look stupid." He sighed, relenting with a chuckle as she stuck a straw in a fresh drink for him and held it up to give him easy access. "I hope my Christmas present is worth the abuse you've put me through tonight, woman."

"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you." Deunan raised an eyebrow at him smiling archly. "Point of fact, why don't we go find those publicity-maniacs and see if they're done with you for the night, because frankly? These shoes are killing me, and I _really_ think we'd have more fun continuing this party at home... don't you?"

"Yes ma'am."

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"Briareos. My office. if you please?"

Briareos looked up from stowing his gear in his locker to take in the Colonel's annoyed expression. Mentally reviewing his performance for the past few days, he couldn't see any particular mishap that would require him being called to carpet. A second mental checklist, of Deunan's training performance, likewise left him at a loss for once as to what she'd done to peeve his commanding officer that he was responsible for by proxy.

Deciding that whatever it was, he'd be best off hearing it in private, Briareos nodded in understanding at the request. "Yes sir. I'll be just a moment." Colonel Knute grimaced and exited ahead of him, leaving him to rub his head in confusion.

Making his way to his superior's office, he found the old man staring out the window, his back to the room at large. "Colonel?"

"On my desk, officer, is something I'd like you to look at and offer an opinion of..."

Briareos noticed the stack easily enough, an assortment of newspaper clippings, partly hidden by a glossy magazine touting the latest news from the city center. Oddly, it was dated for _next_ month. He picked it up, curious. "Weird. Is this a draft-"

He paused on recognizing what was on the cover. Strange how the mistletoe, the embarrassment, and even how good Deunan had looked in her dress had so easily faded from memory less than two weeks later. He rubbed the back of his head in chagrin. His girl had been _very_ distracting during their subsequent, and _private_ followup Christmas celebration. Between her efforts, and a considerable amount of holiday themed alcohol that they'd consumed together, the stressful party before-hand had dissolved into a mellow blur.

The photo gracing the cover of the local magazine brought the night back into focus all too quickly. A crowd of well dressed town notables occupied the foreground of the image, obviously having a good time at the governor's ball, but in the background, caught in surprisingly good focus, was the arbor of holly and mistletoe, and a _very_ recognizable girl in a form fitting green dress getting smooched by a cyborg.

Not really wanting to know more, he flipped grimly ahead to the advertised page, and scanned the article. Not two, but _three_ more photos of him graced the lengthy text. One of the pictures also featured Deunan again as well, looking undeniably pretty as she did her part to make him look less like a bit of misplaced military-grade hardware wandering around a swanky downtown party and more like a guest. Flipping the page one last time, he hissed in disbelief at the close up of the scene applied on the cover. Deunan, bent ever so slightly backwards, leaning against his arm as she stretched upwards, her green dress all but sparkling with the intense light of the photographers. His uniform looking darker by contrast with her and his metal skin as he leaned over her to complete the kiss. It was almost artistic, he supposed. It would have been, at least, if it hadn't been _him_ smack in the middle of it. As it was... he didn't know what to think.

The caption on the image was some ridiculous drivel about love conquering all. He would had rolled his eyes, had he still eyes to roll.

"Christ." He sighed. "Is this for real?"

The colonel turned around to fix him with a level look of disgust. "The PR campaign regarding your return to the force... has gone _viral_, it seems."

Holding out his hand, the old man dropped two more magazines onto the table. Briareos immediately recognized the distinct font of Cybernetics Monthly, and Tech News. One had him standing behind the podium from earlier that same night. The other had graciously spared him the humiliation of the Christmas party, by choosing an image of him from the video presentation, in full SWAT armor, with his teammates all but cropped out of the shot.

On second look, he realized his reprieve had been only momentary. They saved 'the kiss' for an inset picture in the bottom right hand corner of the cover with a note advising readers to turn to page 64 for a 'true love story'. Between that, "The Future of Policing?", and "Meet the Ultimate Human Machine," he wasn't sure which article headline made him want to cringe more. What the hell had Deunan _said_ to those idiot reporters during her idle banter that had given them the impression that they were in any way a romance worthy of a cover story? He sat slowly in a chair, feeling dizzy with the potential mayhem that was about to break loose.

"But... none of these have been printed yet... right? We can say no. Can't we?" Briareos asked weakly. "Make them print something else?"

"This country endorses freedom of the press, Briareos." Colonel Knute drawled grimly. "We're asking that they choose slightly different cover images, of course. And that they make judicious changes to the text... But they're adamant on running the articles."

The old man shrugged. "Our press group is inclined to let them. To 'ride the wave', so to speak. Point of fact, they're insisting that your ill-advised mistletoe-antics be reprinted in the police department's charity calendar later this year. Apparently there's already strong demand for it in the local area, and potentially nationally." He rubbed his mustache tiredly. "They're also making a strong argument for having a second calendar... just for you and that damnable girl! The little idiot's 'look' is apparently in line with what is 'trendy' this year. God give me strength."

"You can't be serious." Briareos sat back, feeling more horrified by the minute. "We'll never get anything done if we're smeared across mgazines from one end of the country to the other... I don't _want_ reporters squatting in my parking lot day and night..."

"Don't remind me." The old man sat down slowly, glaring at him from across the desk. "My only hope is that this is a short-lived mania for something new and eccentric, and that something else will crop up in the next month to catch the public eye."

Colonel Knute folded his arms and scowled, fixing him with an even more ferocious look. "In the mean time, I suggest you tell Deunan, as soon as possible, that she is to be on _absolute_ best behavior for the near future. No in-uniform screw ups. No off-duty hijinks. No bar crawls. No shopping-sprees. And for god's sake... Absolutely _No_ Interviews, unless accompanied by myself, or an approved departmental spokesperson. The _last_ thing I want is for anyone to ever think that _she_ is an example of our usual level of courtesy and professionalism! Do you understand me? You will tell her, that if she can't behave, I can - and will - have her shipped off to the East Coast on a five-year stint with the peacekeeping force! And you _won't_ be joining her!"

"Yes sir." Cowed back into his seat at his commander's increasingly furious series of ultimatums, he nodded fervently that he understood. It was one thing for Deunan to enjoy reading tabloids. It was another thing all together for her to become fodder for one. One way or another, they'd lay low until the unwanted celebrity blew over. "Sorry sir."

"I do recall telling you several weeks ago, to keep a low profile at the damn dinner. You've brought this on yourself you know." The colonel sighed, sitting back in his chair as if physically drained from his shouting.

"I swear, I barely said anything. Certainly not enough to justify a fifteen page article. The PR guys talked three times as much as both of us combined!" He raised his hands in defense from the tired accusation. "It was just one corny kiss! She said it was a holiday tradition..."

It occurred to him, as the words left his mouth, that blaming the Colonel's daughter for the unexpectedly popular PR photos wasn't exactly the chivalrous thing to do. Any other girl's father would probably call him out for hiding behind a daughter instead of 'taking responsibility' for the debacle. Then again, the old man _had_ just referred to Deunan as 'that little idiot'. But still, traditionally it was up to him to take his girl's side in these conversations. Glancing down at the trio of blatantly ridiculous magazine covers, all of them featuring _him_? At the moment he was feeling less than charitable.

"Permission to go find my teammates sir, and warn them of the impending shit storm?" He asked after a long moment of mutual commiseration with his commanding officer.

"Agreed." The old man waved him off. "I don't care how 'marketable' the pair of you are, Briareos. Neither of you are paid to sell magazines. I will not tolerate this affecting your availability for either operations _or_ training. Especially for _her_. She has too much still to learn to be distracted by this nonsense on top of her usual duties, honestly. But even I must bow to necessity, if only a little. As a result, tomorrow when the team breaks for lunch, the pair of you are to report for a meeting with the police commissioner, and the press secretary, in regards to how, and when they may wish to make use of your new... popularity. If you're lucky, they may remember to feed you at the same time. But regardless, I expect you both back in armor and on the field again, by the time afternoon drills begin."

"Yes sir." Briareos let himself out before he could be the bearer of any _further_ bad news. Checking his watch, he decided he'd most likely find his girl at the gun-range. God knew he needed to do something to let off his stress. Shooting a few rounds with Deunan would calm his nerves enough that he could calmly, and carefully explain to her that they were about to be front page news for the next month, and that _no_, it wasn't something to be thrilled about. He only hoped she'd listen.


End file.
